The Overture
by mwesely
Summary: A prequel to Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical version of The Phantom of The Opera, Detailing the Phantom's rise to power and his first encounters with Christine Daae.
1. Chapter 1: The Reign of the Phantom

Paris - 1878

The dull murmur of conversation came to a sudden halt as the Orchestra began to play. The curtain rose, the actors took the stage, the audience enraptured as the Opera Populaire's latest production began to unfold. No one paid any mind to the private box to the left of the stage, shadowed and seemingly empty. No one noticed the figure sitting in the shadows of the box, a disapproving scowl on the half of his face not covered by the ivory mask he wore.

He knew not why he bothered attending these performances. They were never anything spectacular. But now that he had chosen to make his presence in the opera house known and settled on some... _arrangements_ with Lefèvre, the manager, It seemed wasteful to not make use of his private box every now and then. This, along with the 20,000 franc salary he had managed to coerce out of that fool, found him sitting in a considerably better position than he had been previously. All because these imbeciles believed there truly was an Opera Ghost.

The thought of the day he made his presence known for the first time turned Erik's scowl into a twisted grin. He had been causing disturbances for months, knocking things over, moving objects around when no one was looking, slowly building up doubt in the minds of the Opera Houses residents that the shadows moving in the corner of their eyes were simply their minds playing tricks on them.

Then one day during rehearsals when that wretched La Carlotta was about to take the stage, Erik struck. He locked the diva in her dressing room, hiding the key and leaving a letter on the ground at the base of her door. As Carlotta wailed from the other side of her door for Lefèvre and the others to "Get-a me out ov 'ere!", Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, had found the note. "Monsieur." she said, handing the envelope to Lefèvre. "This is addressed to you." Monsieur Lefèvre read the note aloud, amid the crowd of stagehands, actors and anxious ballet girls.

"Dear Monsieur," he began. "For months now you, and everyone in the Opera House have no doubt been taking note of certain occurrences that you cannot explain. No doubt some of you believe you are not truly alone in this grand palace. I am writing, Monsieur, to alleviate the curiosity of you all by introducing myself at long last. I am the Phantom that haunts this opera house, the shadow that is everywhere throughout these halls. Know that I am always there, I am always watching, and should you displease me, I have the ability to make your lives quite..._Unpleasant. _I am, Monsieur, your obedient servant... **O.G.**"

The was a silence, followed by slow murmurs that gradually began to grow. Lefèvre glanced about nervously. "Right then." he said. "Who wrote this?" No one answered. "Oh come, now. One of you must have written this nonsense! I am telling you now, I am not amused!" "Pardon, Monsieur..." interjected one of the actors. "But the signature... What does it mean? O.G.?" "I haven't the foggiest idea myself." the manager responded. "Opera Ghost?" came a small voice from the back of the crowd. "I think it means Opera Ghost." The voice belonged to a tiny blonde ballet girl. Lefèvre chuckled. "Miss Giry." he chided. "There is simply no such thing as Ghosts."

As these words left his lips, a sandbag came plummeting from the rafters, and crashed to the floor mere inches away from Lefèvre. Meg Giry let out a shriek, and the rest of the crowd followed suit, followed shortly by tense whispers and gasps. Lefèvre's gaze snapped to the rafters. "Buquet! My _god _man, are you trying to kill me?!" the now quite shaken manager hollered at the catwalks. "Monsieur?" came a voice from behind his back. All the color drained from Lefèvre's face as he turned slowly, only to find his fears realized as he stared at Joseph Buquet, the chief of the flies, standing on ground level with him. His eyes glanced back to the catwalks, devoid of any living soul. Any _living _soul. "Just get la Carlotta out of her dressing room." Lefèvre muttered, staggering away from the crowd. In the shadows, the Phantom of the Opera watched with a grin. His reign had begun.


	2. Chapter 2: Eyes of Innocence

Chapter Two

By the third act of the opera, Erik had endured quite enough. Between Carlotta's dreadful singing and the patrons actually _enjoying _this disaster masquerading as art, he was feeling rather ill. He glanced at his programme and, seeing that the ballet was about to go on, decided he would attempt to swallow the awful gruel of a performance so he may get to the dessert.

Erik had always had a strange fascination with dance and ballet. The graceful, and delicate movements of the female figure, following in exact harmony with the strains of glorious music. To Erik, this was a marriage of that which he had mastery over, and that which had eluded him all his days: Music, and Woman. He would not deny the pleasure he derived from watching the beautiful ballet girls perform. But it was not in the way most others would think it. He enjoyed watching them simply for the beauty of the female form, the perfection of a woman's body, moving in such a free and elegant way.

Erik's boredom soon gave way to some enjoyment, as the ballet girls entered and began their routine. He watched as their legs moved in perfect synchronous with the orchestra, every movement of an arm after the sweep of a bow. All except one. One girl, in the back of the group, was moving out of time, struggling to stay with the rest of her group. Erik's curiosity was instantly aroused. He tried to see who this girl was, as he did not recognize her. He reasoned she was new, given her current performance. Still, she attempted to cover her mistakes, desperately trying to put on a mask of confidence, and it was working...until she fell.

She sat on the stage for a moment, the rest of the ballet girls continuing the routine as if nothing had happened, and time seemed to slow. As her head rose, she brushed her long, brown hair from her face. And then she looked up, toward the box where the Phantom of the Opera sat, transfixed. For Erik was gazing upon the face of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a face that seemed sculpted by the finest stonemasons in the world, her flowing hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. But what truly held the Phantom's gaze were her eyes, eyes of the deepest blue, dark and alluring as the night. They were slightly red from the tears she could no longer hold back, and then they squinted slightly...

Erik was so lost in this strange girl's beauty that he hardly realized that _she was returning his stare._ He frantically swept his cape around him, blending completely with the shadows of the box, saw the girl's gaze linger for a moment, and then she rushed offstage with the rest of the ballet girls. Erik lowered his cape, fastening it around his neck. What was the matter with him?! He was nearly seen, he could have spoiled everything and for what!? The end of that question resonated in the Phantom's mind... _for what_? The opera ghost pulled the candelabra on the wall, a satisfying _click _notifying him that his escape route was now accessible. Erik pushed the wall open, closed it behind him, and sunk back into the blackness of the opera house, the girl's eyes following him into the dark.


	3. Chapter 3: A Voice in the Night

Chapter Three

A month had passed since Erik had met the eyes of the young ballet girl who fell. And he had fallen as well. The weeks since that night saw constant thoughts of that beautiful girl, struggling so desperately to fit. Erik did not sleep much, and when he did, he certainly did not dream. But ever since he left box five that evening his nights were only her. He dreamed of just being near her, with her... That was enough for him.

But soon the dreams were not enough. Erik's mind became tormented by those eyes, when he closed his, hers stared back at him... He decided that he needed to find this girl. He had absolutely no plan past that point, but just learning her name would slate his thirst. Erik spent a week searching for her, constantly checking every place she was likely to dwell, and yet there was no sign of her... Perhaps the night he saw her had been the night she left the opera house, deciding she was not meant to become a ballerina. Erik banished the thought, for it gave him great pain to even consider that he may never see that magnificent beauty again.

Days turned into weeks, and still there was no sign of where she had gone. Erik took to wandering aimlessly through his passages throughout the Opera House, with the hope that perhaps he would catch a glimpse of her, or at least a word of where she had gone. But as time passed, Erik began to believe that his goddess had simply been a fleeting vision. Had she even been real at all, or was she just a trick of his lonely mind?

Then, one night as he was restlessly wandering, quite hopeless with longing, he heard something. Amidst the normal noise and chatter of the Opera House, there was a soft, sweet strain echoing through the air. Erik froze, mesmerized. _What on earth was that sound? _He wondered, and began moving feverishly towards its source. As he drew closer, the tones became clearer, resonating throughout his body and reversing what years of pain and torture had done to his soul. He stopped for a moment, utterly confused. He was weeping. Erik was no stranger to tears however. But these..._were tears of joy._

This voice... This music... Erik was completely at a loss for words. Was _this _the effect that _his _voice had on so many people? He was getting closer, the melody wracking his form with pure ecstasy, the warm, bright sound enveloping him like the embrace of his mother that he never felt. Finally Erik reached the source of the sound: outside the ballet dormitories.

He then realized what this could mean... He peered through the viewing hole that was no doubt made by Joseph Buquet ("_perverted wretch..." _Erik thought to himself). His heart leapt, confirming what his mind had told him must be true. There, combing her hair in front of her mirror, sat the girl he had thought lost to him. What had merely been an angel before had now become..._ An angel of music._


End file.
